I have a miracle to report.
We’re hosting an avian maternity ward. Currently in residence: five small baby birds that hatched Saturday morning. The mama bird comes and goes, dashing off when I go out or come in. The nest is in a wreath in the hallway right outside my door, open to the outdoors.
“We should charge rent,” my neighbor joked.
The first time this happened in late April, the bird wooshed past my head whenever I left my unit. I figured she had found a safe place to rest not realizing she was a mama. Finally, some friends visited, and they stood on tiptoe to look inside the nest. Voila! Four turquoise eggs.
New life
A week later the eggs hatched. I watched as they progressed from bald, blind blobs, to fully feathered tiny birds with shiny black eyes. Each time I paused by the nest to check on them, they stared back, eyes gleaming.
By this point, the mother only came once or twice a day to deliver food, so the babies were easy to observe, and to love. I’d stop by often to chat, checking their progress.
“You’ll be flying in no time,” I’d encourage them. “Grow, babies, grow.”
They fledged the last week of May. That day, two of my neighbors kept track, and in the early afternoon, one baby was still in the nest. By the time I arrived home for dinner, they were all gone.
The empty nest
I was thrilled, and then, every time I looked at the empty nest, I missed them. Sort of like what happens when your kids leave home. It’s wonderful and horrible all at the same time. I figured that was it for this spring, and the mom - a Junco - would be back next April.
But the very next week, a new set of eggs appeared in the nest. This time, there were five nestled together, and they were smaller and speckled in a slightly different way. I consulted with my neighbor Gus. I checked with Dr. Google. Only five species of birds lay five eggs at a time. We figured the new mom must be a house finch or a sparrow.
After the second set of eggs appeared, Gus suggested that we should get the birds a TV so there would be less hanky panky, which he calls “hinky pinky.”
Baby birds, again
Now, we’re the proud guardians of five fluffy baby birds. I tiptoe up to the wreath and peer in several times a day, careful not to touch or disturb them. Each time I look, I remember a day in May of 1955. I was seven years old, an inveterate explorer of the trees and hills surrounding our house on the outskirts of a Pennsylvania college town.
That morning, I found a nest in the lilac bush just down the hill from our house. I teetered on a lower branch to investigate. For the first time I encountered the amazing turquoise of four robin’s eggs. They were perfect little jewels. I reached in and gently touched one to be sure it was real.
When I got home I told my mother about my discovery.
“The mother bird won’t nest on them, now,” she said. “She can smell you.”
Robins are different
I was bereft. My mother went with me to find the nest. Sure enough, no mother bird. Now I know that just because you touch a nest it doesn’t mean the mother will abandon it. Our house finch is intrepid. She is used to humans, our comings and goings, and our fake wreathes. House finches actually love to nest in wreaths, according to the bird book I consulted. It’s a brilliant strategy because the babies are safe from predators.
Maybe robins are different. All I know is that my mother took the nest, brought it home, and turned the oven on to the lowest heat. Then she set the nest inside in an attempt to incubate the eggs she believed had been abandoned.
Those eggs sat in a warm oven for three hours. They never hatched. I could go in so many directions with this metaphor.
A happier ending
Ever since, I’ve been respectful of nesting birds. I understand how frightening it is to feel unsafe in your own home. But my neighbors and I are good at sharing our space with birds, so this story has a different outcome.
I’m not sure all the little fluff balls will make it, ultimately. But the mama comes and goes, bringing food, and they keep each other warm. Because our last clutch of babies, survived and fledged, I believe this group will too. Meanwhile, I share their progress in texts with friends. We’re all rooting for them.
I’ll be thrilled, and sad, when they fly away. Every time I see a Junco or a house finch, I’ll wonder if they are one of our nestlings. I’ll wait eagerly for next spring wondering which bird will show up to occupy the nest
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Totally loved this, Eleanor. We had a bluejay nest in Grass Valley, and Lee and I watched the nest as you describe. He was very ill. The birds hatched a couple days after he died.
How wonderful! And great pics. We had some baby opossums in the yard...they're not as cute.